Glossary & Basic Guide to Perfume Terms

Posted on December 19, 2012 by Kafkaesque

A lot of people rely on a perfumes’s list of notes to figure out if it’s something that they’d like or even want to test out. But, sometimes, it’s not so easy. Some terms are less familiar or obvious than “rose” or “vanilla.” For example, I highly doubt the average person has ever heard of “opoponax,” let alone know what it is or smells like. As perfume houses increasingly seek the latest new thing, and as synthetic compounds continue their sharp rise in use, perfume notes are getting much more complicated to figure out at a quick glance.

We’re not all experts and we all have to start somewhere. I’m no exception to the need for some refreshers or definitions from time to time, so I thought I’d give a list of terms to help out. They will be basic, nutshell explanations with a simple description of what the ingredient is supposed to smell like. (I owe much gratitude to the experts at NST, Fragrantica and elsewhere whose explanations, knowledge and definitions I’ve learnt from and have quoted frequently below.) I will constantly update the list or add to the descriptions, so it will be a work in progress in some ways.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS:

Malaysian Agarwood.

Agarwood. (Also referred to or known as Aoud or Oud.) Agarwood is an extremely ancient element found in the East. No-one explains its heritage, characteristics and its current usage half as well as the experts at CaFleureBon, so I will just link to their marvelous, brilliant analysis of it here. To make a long story short, however, Fragrantica states that Agarwood ”is reputed to be the most expensive wood in the world” and that Oud is the “pathological secretion of the aquillaria tree, a rich, musty woody-nutty scent that is highly prized in the Middle East. In commercial perfumery it’s safe to say all ‘oud’ is a recreated synthetic note.” Its scent ranges from freshly bracing or crisply cool, to vegetal, and, in many cases, quite medicinal. Almost like bandages. (For more information on what it smells like, you can read my post on Oud fragrances.)

Aldehydes. Aldehydes are essentially organic compounds. Chanel No. 5 became famous for having the greatest percentage of aldehydes (fatty aldehydes to be specific), but almost all perfumes have it to some degree or another. On me, the smell is something intensely soapy with floral and lemony undertones. The varying definitions or explanations are either too simplistic or far too complicated (and with too much chemistry), so I’ll just rely on the best one I’ve found which is from Bois de Jasmin: “Aldehydes are organic compounds present in many natural materials (eg. orange rind, rose, cinnamon bark). Various aldehydes can also be synthesized artificially. There is hardly a fragrance without some type of aldehyde in it; however, it is the vividness of aliphatic aldehydes (a specific subgroup of the aldehydes family) that gives Chanel No 5, Lanvin Arpège, Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche and other floral-aldehydic fragrances their characteristic impressionist sparkle. Their scent ranges from metallic, starchy and citrusy to green, fatty and waxy (for instance, aldehyde C-11 commonly found in rose and cilantro smells like metal and dirty hair to me, but in tiny quantities it adds an impressive lift and freshness to fragrances.) […]Chanel No 5 became famous for its unprecedented overdose of several different aldehydes (a total of almost 1%.)” Common descriptions of aldehydes range from: “a champagne-like, sparkly, fizzy odor that makes the fragrance fly off the skin” to a waxy, citrusy or rosy aroma, like snuffed-out candles” — but it’s usually a bit more complicated than that. (See, Perfume Shrine, here.)

Ambergris

Ambergris. Essentially, sperm whale vomit. No, I’m not joking. NST explains as follows: “Ambergris: a sperm whale secretion. Sperm whales produce it to protect their stomachs from the beaks of the cuttlefish they swallow. Ambergris was traditionally used as a fixative, but in modern perfumery, ambergris is usually of synthetic origin (including the synthetic compounds ambrox, ambroxan (see), amberlyn). Ambergris is described as having a sweet, woody odor. Today, the term “ambergris” is used nearly interchangeably with ‘amber.’” To replace natural ambergris, a synthetic compound was created called Ambroxan.

Ambroxan. A synthetic compound created to replace Ambergris. (See above.)

Aoud. (See Oud below or read my post on Oud fragrances.)

Aromatic Fougère. (See also, Fougère.) “Aromatic Fougère” isn’t an ingredient but a sub-set of the Fougère category of perfumes. To quote Wikipedia, fougère “is one of the main families into which modern perfumes are classified. […] The class of fragrances have the basic accord with a top-note of lavender and base-notes of oakmoss and coumarin. Aromatic fougère, a derivative of this class, contains additional notes of herbs, spice and/or wood.”

Artemisia Absinthium

Artemesia. (Also known as Wormwood.) Acording to NST, Artmesia refers to a “category of diverse family of plants, so named because at one time they were used to prepare worming medicine. The latin name is artemisia, and in perfumery, wormwood and/or artemisia often refers specifically to artemisia absinthium, one of the key ingredients of Absinthe.” Artemesia is supposed to smell pungent, extremely green, sharp and bitter. Some say it smells like tarragon concentrated to the umpteenth degree. It is said to bring down the cloying nature of some notes, like civet, but it can also be extremely pungent by itself. Basenote commentators say that it acts like a filter to diffuse out some stronger, sweeter notes and to let you smell the more subtle ones, especially when it is used in perfumes with an oakmoss, leather and/or patchouli base. It is a strong feature in many classic scents, particularly chypre perfumes, and is one of the key characters in such scents as Robert Piguet’s Bandit, YSL’s Kouros for men, and Krizia Uomo.

Balsam. Balsam is the dark, oozing secretions from a tree that differs from “resin” mainly in terms of its form and method of preparation. When something is referred to as being Balsam-like or Balsamic, it means the scent has the aroma is like a resin which can range from sweet, amber-y and vanilla-like, to vanilla, cinnamon, though usually of a slightly woody nature. Degrees of sweetness, bitterness and/or smoke may vary depending on the type of tree that is used.

Bergamot. The smell of bergamot falls between orange and lemon, and is most closely associated with Earl Grey tea. It can turn a little woody and some people can occasionally smell hints of lavender lurking around.

Benzoin. When perfume notes list “Benzoin,” they really mean Benzoin resin. (See below) Technically and scientifically, there is a difference, since “Benzoin” is an organic compound that is not used in perfume. So, when you see “Benzoin” listed, they are really referring to a type of residue from a tree.

Benzoin Resin. (See also Styrax.) Benzoin is a type of resin and, as such, evokes the scent of amber. Depending on the type of resin, it can be both sweet and smoky, or just incense-y and slightly woody. Types of Benzoin resins are, for example, Siam Resin or Sumatra Resin. Wikipedia states the following: “Benzoin resin or styrax resin is a balsamic resin obtained from the bark of several species of trees in the genus Styrax. It is used in perfumes, some kinds of incense, as a flavoring, and medicine.” Bois de Jasmin explains further: “Benzoin has a clear vanillic fragrance (it contains vanillin, just like vanilla beans) as well as a hint of cinnamon. It is one of the most versatile notes among other balsams, and it is used in most amber, vanilla and oriental accords. It also can be found all over the fragrance wheel, from citrus colognes to woody blends. I especially love its sweet vanillic note in Chanel Coromandel and Serge Lutens Vétiver Oriental, where paired with incense, it creates a gilded, plush sensation.

The berries, buds and leaves of the Black Currant plant. Source: Perfumed Shrine.

Black Currant or Black Currant Buds. Also known as Cassis, black currant has a scent that is tarter some of its sweeter fruit companions (like plum). Depending on what parts are used, it can also come off as greener. The Perfume Shrine has a good explanation of the scent as well as the occasional tendency for some people to smell sour, almost urine-like ammoniac notes: “[c]ompared to the artificial berry bases defined as “cassis,” the natural black currant bud absolute comes off as greener and lighter with a characteristic touch of cat. Specifically the ammoniac feel of a feline’s urinary tract, controversial though that may seem. Black currant absolute comes from the bud… but also from the distilled leaves of the plant … and is extracted into a yellowish green to dark green paste that projects as a spicy-fruity-woody note retaining a fresh, yet tangy nuance, slightly phenolic.” Black currant or its buds are featured in a number of extremely popular, famous fragrances. A few examples are: Black Orchid by Tom Ford, Chamade and Champs Elysees by Guerlain, Gucci Rush II by Gucci, Escape by Clavin Klein, First by Van Cleef & Arpel, Beautiful by E.Lauder, In Love Again by YSL, Fan di Fendi by Fendi, and Rock & Rose by Valentino. (Source: Fragrantica.)

Bulgarian Rose: Bulgarian roses belong to the damask rose category which usually have a heady, richer, darker element to them than something like a tea rose or a Moroccan rose. (To my nose, at least.)

Calone. According to NST, calone is “an aroma chemical that adds a ‘sea breeze’ or marine note” to perfume. It was first used in large quantities in Aramis New West (1988). Some of the many perfumes that contain calone are: Davidoff’s Cool Water, Dior’s Dune, L’eau d’Issey, Kenzo Homme and Calvin Klein’s Escape.

Cassis. The French term for black currant. (See above.)

Castoreum. Castoreum is the excretion from the anal sacs of beavers. Again, I am not joking. I couldn’t possibly attempt to describe or define this one on my own, so I will simply quote large chunks of an article on it from Beauty.About.Com: “Used by the animal during scent marking and mating, this bitter, strong-smelling, orange-brown secretion is dried, ground and put into alcohol to produce the aromatic castoreum resinoid used in perfumery. The undiluted secretion from the beaver is said Beaver Anal Glands to have a perisistent, bitter and penetrating odor. In its resinoid form, as a perfume ingredient, castoreum imparts an animalistic note that approximates the scent of dried leather.” For animal cruelty reasons, I’m sure that the scent used in modern perfumes is all synthetic. If the thought of beaver anal sacs has completely put you off, you might be surprised at the list of extremely famous fragrance names which use Castoreum. In women’s perfumes: Chanel Cuir de Russie, Coty Emeraude, Lancome Magic Noire, Givenchy III, Guerlain Shalimar, Jean Patou 1000, Guerlain Jicky, Frederic Malle Une Rose, Juliette has a Gun Midnight Oud, Paloma Picasso Pure Parfum, and Robert Piguet Bandit. “A selection of men’s fragrances starring castoreum include Profumo Castoreum, Le Labo Labdanum 18, Chanel Antaeus, Amouage Epic Man, Caron Third Man, and Estee Lauder Aramis.”

Chypre. Chypre is one of the main categories or families of perfumes. Chypre scents are usually (but not always) considered to be women’s fragrances. They begin with citrus top notes, have labdanum as one of their middle notes, and conclude with oakmoss (in conjunction with other ingredients) as their base. The oakmoss is key and a signature part of chypre perfumes, but the base also often includes musk or some sort of animalic note. The NST website states it best and most succinctly: “Chypre: pronounced ‘sheepra’, French for ‘Cyprus’ and first used by François Coty to describe the aromas he found on the island of Cyprus. He created a woodsy, mossy, citrusy perfume named Chypre (launched by Coty in 1917). Classic chypre fragrances generally had sparkling citrus and floral notes over a dark, earthy base of oakmoss, patchouli, woods and labdanum. Modern chypre fragrances usually use less (or no) oakmoss because of regulatory restrictions; sometimes they use synthetic substitutes.” Wikipedia adds, “Chypre perfumes fall into numerous classes according to their modifier notes, which include but are not limited to leather, florals, fruits, and amber. Modern chypre perfumes have various connotations such as floral, fruity, green, woody-aromatic, leathery, and animalic notes, but can easily be recognized by their ‘warm’ and ‘mossy-woody’ fond which contrasts the fresh citrus top, and a certain bitterness in the dry-down.” As Wikipedia notes, the basic notes usually consist of: citrus (bergamot, neroli, lemon or orange); oakmoss (woody and mossy); patchouli; and musk (sweet, powdery and animalic). The overall “composition is usually enhanced with a floral component through rose and jasmine oil.” The chypre family includes some of the most famous scents in the world, from such fruity chypres as Femme by Rochas and Mitsouko by Guerlain, to leather chypres like Bandit by Robert Piguet, floral chypres like Knowing by Estée Lauder, and green chypres like Givenchy III.

Cistus. Cistus really refers to Labdanum. The small cistus shrub is native to the Mediterranean and Middle East, and the distillation of its leaves produces a dry resinous, faintly woody smell that is called labdanum in perfume. Essentially, labdanum is another resin like amber, but it has more of a masculine toughness to amber’s sweetness. Labdanum can be dirty, animalic and almost reminiscent of sex at times, while other compositions can bring out a more leather-like smell. It is also known as Rockrose. One perfumer and research scientist described it as follows on her blog, Perfume Project NW: “Some people think it smells like goat. Others think it smells like ambergris, or leather, or pine rosin, or musk. Yet others think it smells like strange, rotten fruit. Some people think it must be the smell of heaven, and others think it’s the smell from hell. Everyone seems to have a different reaction to rock rose, otherwise known as Cistus ladaniferus (also spelled ladanifer).”

Clary Sage. Clary sage is a herbaceous plant, and not the same sort of sage that you Clary Sage Salvia sclarea (Labiatae) use in cooking. According to a helpful discussion on Basenotes, the regular sage that you use in cooking is called Dalmatian sage. A number of people find clary sage to be sweeter, fresher and with a hint of peppermint, while Dalmatian sage is more bitter, biting and aromatic. Clary sage is also said to have elements of lavender in its odor profile and, sometimes, even of green tea. Fragrantica, however, describes the plant as having a “bracing herbaceous scent that smells like lavender with leathery and amber nuances, thus very popular from old times for perfumed products.”

Coumarin. (See also, Tonka Bean.) Wikipedia states that Coumarin is a fragrant plant substance, found in many plants in the grass family and found in particularly high concentrations in the tonka bean. It goes on to explain that: “[t]he name comes from a French word, coumarou, for the tonka bean. It has a sweet odor, readily recognised as the scent of new-mown hay, and has been used in perfumes since 1882.”

Elemi. Elemi is a type of tree from the Philippines that is closely related to those which give us Frankincense and Myrrh. Surrender to Chance says: “[w]hen the leaves sprout, it exudes a natural resin that yields an oil and stops when the last leaf sprouts.” Elemi resin is pale-yellow with honey-like consistency and initially has a lemony aroma that later gives way to something that is variously described as either a nutmeg-like scent or (more commonly) to something like pine needles. It is sometimes called “the poor man’s Frankincense” because it definitely has an incense component to its aroma. The Perfume Shrine states: “The overall scent of elemi can best be typified in perfume lingo as ‘terpenic‘, an aroma typified by fresh pine needles, clean, green with citrusy and coriander undertones. It’s therefore not unusual to see it featured in the context of ‘pine’ compositions or in masculine fragrances, as well as in incense blends.” There appears to be a difference in aroma between the oil — which is more lemon-y and fresh — and the resin which is more peppery and smoky. The Perfume Shrine says: “elemi resinoid on the other hand has the spicy peppery and woody-grassy facets more pronounced making it pair perfectly with pepper, woods (patchouli and vetiver especially), and sweet grass, while its constituent elemicin is shared with nutmeg.”

Fougère. Fougère isn’t an ingredient but a category of fragrance. Fragrantica states: “Name of the olfactive group ‘fougere’ derives from French word ‘fougere’ or ‘fern’. Coumarin can be found in the center of compositions. Perfume-originator of this group is Fougere Royal by the house of Houbigant, created by Paul Parquet in 1882. The perfumer extracted the synthetic component coumarin and used it in perfumery for the first time. Coumarin can be found in nature in several plants, such as Tonka beans, and it possesses intensive scent of freshly mown grass. Fougere compositions include notes of lavender, geranium, moss and wood. This group primarily includes perfumes for men.”

Frangipani

Frangipani. Frangipani is also known as plumeria, a flower common to tropical climates like Mexico or South America but also to such exotic islands as Fiji, Tahiti and Hawaii. It has a very heavy, heady, lushly ripe, extremely sweet scent similar to magnolia, gardenia and tuberose. It can also bring to mind coconuts. Frangipani is often described as an “indolic” scent, meaning heady, narcotic and, sometimes, over-ripe, sometimes to the point of decay. (See entry for “Indolic.”)

A white version of frankincense being burned.

Frankincense. (See also, Olbanum.) According to NST, frankincense is “a gum resin from a tree (genus Boswellia) found in Arabia and Eastern Africa. It is harvested by making an incision in the bark; the milky juice leaks out and is left to harden over a period of months before it is collected.” It smells dark, and smoky, and was often used as incense in religious ceremonies. It has some similarities to Myrrh but, to my nose, myrrh is softer and sweeter, not as sharp and dark. For a great article on the two and their history, you can go to CaFleureBon and read their analysis here. In general, however, the smell of frankincense encompasses a wide range: woody with pine and sometimes lemon undertones; sweet and nutty; thick, sticky, very dark and heavy, like an old, somewhat dusty church where a lot of incense was used; earthy, sharp, peppery and dusty; or some combination of the above.

Galbanum

Galbanum. Galbanum is a gum resin from certain Persian plant species that resemble large fennel or anise plants. The perfume site, I Smell Therefore I Am, has an excellent, extremely helpful explanation of its scent: “With its penetrating, pine-like top note and slightly bitter, woody base, galbanum makes green pop, as if one of the green chypres had slapped you hard in the face with a chunk of bundled stems. […] Part frankincense, part vetiver, its leafy terpenoid astringency ventilates the pastures of Carven’s Ma Griffe, Cellier’s Vent Vert, Ivoire de Balmain, Pheromone, Devin, Chanel No. 19 and, most spectacularly, Estee Lauder’s Aliage, which is more gale force than languid breeze. […] Galbanum is mercurial, effecting compositions in subtly different ways. It smells modern, though, along with aldehyde, it was the previous generation’s equivalent to the fruity accords which buoy contemporary florals to varying degrees and towards often vastly different ends. The smell is intensely, viscerally green, smelling of grass and aromatic weeds and herbs. It penetrates your consciousness and roots there, a vivid inhalation of the great Out There.”

Guaiac Wood – one of the hardest woods in the world.

Guaiac. Guaiac (or Guaiac Wood) is the heartwood of a Palo Santo (Bulnesia sarmienti) tree. Fragrantica states: “Odor Profile: Exotic wood note that has tar-like, phenolic facets, imparting smoky, tarmac notes.” A Basenotes commentator agrees, stating that Guaiac wood has a: “rosy, honeyed-sweet and slightly smoky and waxy-oily slightly rubbery aroma. It is used often in tobacco scents.” Another thinks it smells like “pepper and burning leaves.” In all cases, however, it differs in scent from oud or agarwood.

Immortelle. Source: The Perfume Shrine.

Immortelle. Immortelle is known by a variety of names such as “Everlasting Flower” or Helicrysum. It is sometimes even known as the “Curry plant,” though it has nothing to do with curry or the spices in it. It is a sunny, yellow plant from the Meditteranean, particularly Corsica and Italy. The Perfume Shrine describes its smell as follows: “The odour of immortelle absolute is difficult to describe, somewhat similar to sweet fenugreek and curcuma, spices used in Indian curry, with a maple-like facet. Quite logical if you think that the essence contains alpha, beta and gamma curcumene.” In addition, it also has “[r]ich scents of dry straw, dusty amber, coffee, burnt licorice, syrupy and powdery, and spices (reminiscent of celery, fenugreek and curry[.] … Like burnt sugar and dry straw combined is a suitable effort at conveying immortelle’s nuanced profile, but the more the oil warms up on the skin, the more it reveals human-like, supple nuances of honeyed notes, waxy, intimate… It pairs well in chypres and oriental fragrances, where it pairs with labdanum, clove, citruses, chamomille, lavender and rose essences.” The maple syrup comparison is repeated by the Perfume Posse who adds that the analogy “doesn´t really do the smell justice, because it´s more complex and peculiar than “maple syrup” would suggest. Here are some other common descriptions: a strong straw-like, fruity smell; straw, honey and tea; as well as words like warm, sweet, caramel, coumarin, fruit-honey, tonka. Osmoz.com says ‘essence of immortelle gives chypre, floral and amber compositions a particular charisma” and characterizes the smell as “red fruit, syrupy, nut, honey-flavored, tobacco.’ ”

The organic Indole compound found in certain white flowers like jasmine or tuberose. And, apparently, in pork liver too!

Indolic. (Or Indoles.) Indolic is a term that is usually used to describe certain heady, rich, lush, almost creamily ripe scents. It’s most commonly associated with certain white flowers like tuberose and gardenia, though jasmine, lilac and honeysuckle are also create ver indolic scents. Bois de Jasmin explains it as follows: “Jasmine, lilac, honeysuckle, gardenia, and orange flower all have diverse olfactory profiles, yet they share the presence of indole, which gives them a rich, narcotic fragrance. Without this unique material, which in pure form looks like white diamond dust, it would have been impossible to recreate the true scent of blooming flowers. A tiny amount of indole is all it takes to infuse life into a composition of floral notes, to make an abstract, vague petally form to appear as a lush, nectar suffused flower. Indole is often described as ‘fecal and animalic,’ which is a complete misrepresentation. In its pure form, indole smells like moth balls, possessing the same heavy, sweet, tar-like pungency. In fact, it is so strong, suffocating and diffusive that smelling it pure one is hard pressed to imagine that it could be a lovely floral note. Yet, indole changes dramatically in dilutions. It suddenly displays its radiant, floral quality. The suffocating moth ball effect disappears to give way to a completely different image–a handful of gardenia petals or a branch of jasmine flowers. The opulent, narcotic effect of indole is employed whenever a perfumer wants to create a floral effect or else to give a lift to a heavy, oriental composition.”

ISO E Super. Source: Fragrantica

Iso E Super. Iso E Super is a synthetic chemical used to perfumers to boost the strength and longevity of scents. I’ve written a full post about the aromachemical, as well as the perfumes which contain it, and the potential headache-inducing aspects to the note. You can find it here. Chanel’s in-house perfumer, Jacques Polge, is one of those who loves to it, particularly to amp up florals. NST states that it’s “described by International Flavors & Fragrances as ‘Smooth, woody, amber note with a ‘velvet’ like sensation. Superb floralizer. Used to impart fullness and subtle strength to fragrances.” (Source: NST) To my nose, however, it can often be extremely peppery, antiseptic and medicinal in aroma with a strong underpinning of rubbing alcohol. Some people are completely anosmic to the scent (meaning they can’t detect it at all), while others get terrible headaches from it. It is rarely listed as an official note in perfumes but more and more fragrances nowadays have it. You can read my post for more information on it, along with a list of some of the perfumes that include the note.

Labdanum. (Also known as Labdanum Ciste or Cistus.) Labdanum comes from the small cistus shrub which is native to the Mediterranean and Middle East. The distillation of the cistus leaves produces a dry resinous, faintly woody smell that is called labdanum in perfume. Essentially, labdanum is another resin like amber, but it has more of a masculine toughness to amber’s sweetness. Labdanum can be dirty, animalic and almost reminiscent of sex at times, while other compositions can bring out a more leather-like smell. Labdanum is also sometimes referred to as Rockrose. One perfumer and scientist described it as follows on her blog, Perfume Project NW: “Some people think it smells like goat. Others think it smells like ambergris, or leather, or pine rosin, or musk. Yet others think it smells like strange, rotten fruit. Some people think it must be the smell of heaven, and others think it’s the smell from hell. Everyone seems to have a different reaction to rock rose, otherwise known as Cistus ladaniferus (also spelled ladanifer).”

Moroccan Rose. Moroccan roses are a type of cabbage rose and, as such, have a sweet, honey-like scent.

Myrrh

Myrrh. Like Frankincense, myrrh is a gum resin. It has a smoky but sweet element and, to my nose, is not as sharp or as acrid as frankincense can (occasionally) be. For a great article on the two and their history, you can go to CaFleureBon and read their analysis here. One type of myrrh used in perfumes is Opoponax. (See below.) In general, however, the smell of myrrh encompasses a wide range: resinous and sweet; medicinal and bitter; licorice or aniseed-like; incredibly soapy, cool, and white; or sharp and dusty.

Oakmoss

Oakmoss. Oakmoss is “derived from a lichen (evernia prunastri) that grows on Oak trees. The use of real oakmoss is restricted (but not prohibited) due to regulations meant to avoid allergic reactions.” (Source: NST) One site explains the smell of this incredibly important ingredient as follows: “Oakmoss has a strong, earthy-mossy aroma. It imparts a wet forest floor scent that is very true to nature, with dry, earthy, green, and bark-like qualities, and a leather-like undertone. Oakmoss is highly valued as a fixative agent in perfumery, for its ability to anchor more volative fragrance notes, and add a rich undertone and smoothness to all perfume types (oriental, floral, chypre, etc).” Oakmoss is not only highly regulated now in terms of quantity under the IFRA regulations, but its amount may be lessened even further under additional and new regulations that are to take effect in 2013.

Olbanum otherwise known as Frankincense. (See above.) According to NST, olbanum/frankincense is “a gum resin from a tree (genus Boswellia) found in Arabia and Eastern Africa. It is harvested by making an incision in the bark; the milky juice leaks out and is left to harden over a period of months before it is collected.” It shares some similarities with Myrrh.

Opoponax

Opoponax. A type of myrrh that NST states is also known as “sweet myrrh” and “bisabol myrrh.” NST adds that Opoponax “has a sweet, balsam-like, lavender-like fragrance when used as incense. King Solomon supposedly regarded opoponax as one of the ‘noblest’ of all incense gums.” (Source: NST)

Oriental Fougère. Oriental Fougère is not an ingredient but a classification or category of perfume. “Fougère” is a type of aromatic perfume or cologne that has lavender, coumarin and/or oakmoss. So, an Oriental Fougère is, essentially, a fragrance that has oriental notes mixed with woody ones. (See, Fougère up above for more that category of perfume,)

Iris and the Orris root

Orris (or Orris root). Orris root is the root of the iris flower ,and is often used in perfume or makeup as a fixative or base. It has a richly floral, heavy scent, often evocative of violets.

Oud. (Agarwood, Aoud, or even Oudh.) Oud comes from Agarwood which is an extremely ancient element found in the East. No-one explains its heritage, characteristics and its current usage half as well as the experts at CaFleureBon, so I will just link to their marvelous, brilliant analysis of it here. To make a long story short, however, Fragrantica states that Agarwood ”is reputed to be the most expensive wood in the world” and that Oud is the “pathological secretion of the aquillaria tree, a rich, musty woody-nutty scent that is highly prized in the Middle East. In commercial perfumery it’s safe to say all ‘oud’ is a recreated synthetic note.” (For information on what it smells like, you can read my post on Oud fragrances.)

Patchouli. NST states that patchouli is “a bushy shrub originally from Malaysia and India. […] Patchouli has a musty-sweet, spicy-earthy aroma; modern patchouli is often molecularly altered to remove the musty components.” (Source: NST)

Peru Balsam. From my reading of Fragantica’s explanation, Peru balsam is a type of wood whose essence has a cinnamon and vanilla smell. At the same time, it has a green olive base which exudes an earthier, as well as bitter, aroma. It shares some similarities with Siam Resin. (See below.) Both smell like sweet vanilla but Peru Balsam has a cinnamon aspect too, along with that earthy, bitter edge. In contrast, Siam Resin — which used to be burned as incense — is more smoky and woody. Bois de Jasmin states, in comparing Peru Balsam to Tolu Balsam: “I find Peru balsam spicier and smokier. The smoky note can be introduced by processing methods when the raw material is boiled in water over a wood-burning fire. It is quite a dark, heavy material, and it is usually blended with other balsamic and ambery notes as in Hermès Elixir des Merveilles, Serge Lutens Amber Sultan, Lorenzo Villoresi Incensi, Yves Saint Laurent Opium or Nicolaï Sacrebleu Intense.” In short, Cinnamon Vanilla with bitter green earth -vs- Sweet Vanilla with smoky, incense and wood. Tolu Balsam or Balsam of Tolu is similar to the Peru Balsam.

Petitgrain. Petitgrain refers to “oil distilled from leaves and twigs of a citrus tree, usually the bitter orange tree.” (Source: NST) Essentially, it’s the slightly bitter, woody part of the orange blossom tree, and it adds a masculine touch to fragrances.

Plumeria. See Frangipani.

Resin. (See also, Balsam, Benzoin or Siam Resin). Resin is the dark, oozing secretions from a tree that differs from “balsam” mainly in terms of its form and method of preparation.

Rockrose. (Also known as Labdanum, see above.) One perfumer and research scientist described it as follows on her blog, Perfume Project NW: “Some people think it smells like goat. Others think it smells like ambergris, or leather, or pine rosin, or musk. Yet others think it smells like strange, rotten fruit. Some people think it must be the smell of heaven, and others think it’s the smell from hell. Everyone seems to have a different reaction to rock rose, otherwise known as Cistus ladaniferus (also spelled ladanifer).”

Siam Resin. Siam Resin is a type of dark, balsam-ic secretion from a particular type of tree in Thailand, and is supposed to be more smoky and dark than other types of resins. It shares some similarities with Balsam or Peru Balsam. Both smell like sweet vanilla but Peru Balsam has a cinnamon aspect too, along with that earthy, bitter edge. In contrast, Siam Resin — which used to be burned as incense — is more smoky and woody. In short, Cinnamon Vanilla with bitter green earth -vs- Sweet Vanilla with smoky, incense and wood.

Red sandalwood or Indian Mysore sandalwood.

Australian sandalwood

Sandalwood: NST describes sandalwood as: “an oil extracted from the heartwood of the Sandal tree, originally found in India. One of the oldest known perfumery ingredients, the powdered wood is also used to make incense. Indian sandalwood is now endangered, so many modern perfumes use Australian sandalwood or synthetic substitutes.” (Source: NST) The best type of sandalwood is supposed to be red Indian sandalwood, also known as Mysore sandalwood. Australian sandalwood is usually not as rich and sweet. The scent of Sandalwood can vary depending on the type used but generally, it has a sweet, slightly cedar woodsy smell with sharp, sometimes acrid vanilla undertones. It can sometimes take on a faintly medicinal note, but there is always an underlying sweetness and vanilla element lurking at its heart.

Sillage. Sillage refers to how much a scent emanates. Can you smell the perfume only if you’re very close to someone, or can you smell it from across the room? If a perfume has very little sillage, people say it’s “close to the skin.”

Soliflore. Soliflore refers to “a fragrance which focuses on a single flower, or which tries to recreate the aroma of a single flower. Soliflores may in fact have more than one floral note, however.” (Source: NST)

One type of Styrax tree which creates the resin used in Tubereuse Criminelle and in other fragrances.

Styrax. Styrax is essentially yet another type of resin. Bois de Jasmin states as follows: “It is a beautiful dry, smoky, spicy note, with a distinctive leather and incense facet. It is the least sweet and vanillic out of the balsams I have described here. A beautiful note of styrax can be noticed in the drydown of Serge Lutens Cuir Mauresque, Bois Oriental and Tubéreuse Criminelle. It is generally a supporting character, but smell Bond No.9 Broadway Nite, and the presence of leathery styrax is unmistakable right from the top note, where it is given a nice lift by the violet and aldehydes. Also, many leather accords like Chanel Cuir de Russie, Dior Fahrenheit, and Tom Ford Tuscan Leather rely on the leathery darkness of styrax.”

Tiaré. A type of gardenia.

Tolu Balsam. (See also Peru Balsam.) Tolu Balsam is another type of resin that comes from an injured tree. Bois de Jasmin states: “Tolu also has a vanilla and cinnamon fragrance, but I notice a strong smoky and sweet note. Tolu is reminiscent of almonds and leather, a seemingly darker note than benzoin. Tolu balsam is the leading player in Ormonde Jayne Tolu as well as an important supporting note in Cartier L’Heure Defendue. A smoky, warm touch of tolu balsam in Donna Karan Gold and Robert Piguet Fracas lends their florals a spicy, rich quality, which is further augmented by other sensual, oriental notes.”

Tonka Beans

Tonka Bean. According to Wikipedia, the tonka bean comes from a species of flowering tree in the pea family that is native to Central America and northern South America. Its seeds are known as tonka beans. “They are black and wrinkled and have a smooth, brown interior. Their fragrance is reminiscent of vanilla, almonds, cinnamon, and cloves.”

Tuberose

Tuberose. A extremely heady white flower that, like Frangipani, is a very indolic (tending to a lushly narcotic, sometimes over-ripe, full-blown smell). That potential to be indolic is why extremely creamy, ripe tuberose scents can — on some people — bring to mind feces, mothballs or a cat’s litter box. (See entry for “Indolic.”)

Vetiver. Vetiver (sometimes spelled as “vetyver”) is the essential oil from the root of a type of grass, most commonly found in India. Chandler Burr, the New York Times perfume critic, explained it for GQ as follows: “[i]n the most basic sense, it’s a grass native to India that grows in bushes up to 4’x4′. It’s also related to lemon grass, as you can tell when you smell it. The stuff—it’s the grass’s long, thin roots that they distill—is infinitely more interesting though: deep, shadowed, astringent, earthy like newly tilled soil, and balsam-woody. It can be warm like tobacco leaves, it can have a crushed-green leaves freshness, or it can be cool like lemon verbena. Haiti produces about 80% of the vetiver oil in the world, although sometimes you’ll be putting a bit of Indonesia or Brazil on your arm as well (Haiti’s is more floral, Java’s is smokier). […] Like wine, the scent of vetiver oil improves as it ages: the best of it is made with roots that have been aged somewhere between 18-24 months; the oil costs around $200/kg when it hits the market. American scent maker IFF makes it three ways: with steam (resulting in vetiver essence, which is dryer and lighter), solvent (which produces an absolute and is darker, with the scent of rich dirt), and a new technology called “Molecular Distillation” that uses carbon dioxide to yield a scent that’s extraordinary—strongly grapefruit, fresher, zestier.”

Ylang-ylang.

Ylang-ylang. Ylang-Ylang comes from a bright, banana-yellow flower and has a rich, heady, sweet, floral smell that is slightly fruity and custardy. One commentator called it “the eccentric sister to jasmine” but it’s also often compared to such flowers as tuberose, frangipani, and tiaré. Personally, I think it has a richer, fruitier and, definitely, spicier scent than any of those flowers. As a side note, the smell of ylang-ylang has long been considered to be both an aphrodisiac and soothing.

Perfume Review: Chanel Coromandel – Frankincense & Opium Dens

Posted on December 13, 2012 by Kafkaesque

Were the Three Wise Men or Magi visiting Bethlehem today, Chanel’s Coromandel is a gift that they might have enjoyed wearing (even if it isn’t a suitable gift for a child in a manger).

Photo series for Interview Magazine by Mert & Marcus.

So, too, would those “Chasing the Dragon” in Imperial China’s opium dens, their limbs sinuous and contorted by their dark obsessions. It is, without question, a perfume of the mysterious, ancient East.

Coromandel is said to be an homage to Coco Chanel’s beloved lacquered, wooden Chinese folding screens and was introduced to the world in 2007 as part of Chanel’s six-line collection called “Les Exclusifs.” It was created by Chanel’s house perfumer, Jacques Polge, along with an equally famous “nose” in the industry, Christopher Sheldrake. According to Chanel’s own description on their website, “the elaborate scent unfolds in undulating detail, starting with an amber vibrato, followed by dry notes of Frankincense and Benzoin, then, soulful woody notes that add elegance and depth to the sensuous accord’s striking trail.”

The notes, according to a reviewer (“Zut”) on Basenotes, are as follows:

Top: citruses, bitter orange, neroli
Heart: jasmine, rose, patchouli, orris
Base: incense, olibanum [also known as Frankincense], benzoin, woodsy notes, musk, Tahitian vanilla

Coromandel is a perfume that reminds me that life would be much easier if I had significantly less expensive tastes. It’s not a perfume I adore with a searing passion, but it is a perfume that I definitely like a lot. A LOT. (Far too much for my wallet’s good health, actually. I suspect I will try to buy a full bottle of this.)

Coromandel opens with a burst of zesty citrus, powder and vanilla. Unlike one reviewer on Basenotes, I don’t smell bitter orange, only basic citrus. Two to four minutes in, the citrus is gone completely, leaving only vanilla musk, patchouli and a hint of almond. Exactly 10 minutes from the time I put in on, the vanilla musk turns darkly and intensely peppery. It is a sharp and dramatic change in such a brief period of time. As the frankincense and/or patchouli rise to the forefront, the perfume changes again. There are wisps of a milk chocolate smell that start to emerge.

I must be honest, and I need to say this from the onset, I truly cannot tell if it is the patchouli or frankincense that is more at play with Coromandel. Everyone talks about how this is such a patchouli monster, and it most definitely has patchouli at its heart. But I truly think that this is more of a frankincense monster than a patchouli one. While there are all kinds of dirty, dark patchouli out there, they all generally seem to have (on me) a warmer, softer edge than what I am picking up in Coromandel. Coromandel’s patchouli (if that is what I’m smelling for the most part) is different than the dirty patchouli that is in Hermès’ Elixir de Merveilles, to mention a patchouli perfume that I just recently reviewed. On me, Coromandel has a much more smoky, piercing, sharp, almost screeching (but in a good way), burning incense note, one that I associate with frankincense far more than with patchouli.

Regardless of whether it’s the frankincense or the patchouli that truly dominates here, the overall whole in the early stages is that of a very milky oriental. I have definite flashbacks to a milky Chai, with a touch of cinnamon, a good dollop of white cocoa, sugar, amber and lots of powdered vanilla. It’s an inescapable image for the first 40 minutes of the perfume’s development on my arm. It’s also a very comforting scent that brings to mind curling up under a thick, beige cashmere blanket, next to a roaring fire, as you sip that aforementioned Chai tea.

It is around this time that Coromandel’s milky vanilla spice has been joined by rose, violet and a faint hint of jasmine. It’s not the full-blown, blowsy, overly-sweet rose of YSL’s Paris, but a softer rose that is moderated by the violet note. The rose-violet-vanilla scent reminds me strongly of the old-fashioned, expensive lipsticks I used to buy in Paris, and of Chanel’s lipsticks themselves. The cause is the orris root mentioned amongst the ingredients. Orris root is the root of the iris flower ,and is often used in perfume or makeup as a fixative or base. It has a richly floral, heavy scent, often evocative of violets. And I can definitely smell it here.

There is supposed to be a strong thread of amber floating throughout Coromandel, but I find it overwhelmed by the frankincense. It’s amazingly strong, and I’m glad for it. I absolutely adore it, more than the increasingly common amber accord that is found in so many fragrances today.

Strangely enough, the perfume is getting more intense on my arm. Two and a half hours in, I wrote in my notes: “how is this just getting stronger???!?!?!!” It’s quite a feat, but it has put me in Coromandel’s thrall. As the peppery smoke increases along with the incense, I get flickering images of an old, quiet, dark Russian Orthodox church where black-robed, black-bearded priests walk through the hushed aisles, swinging those gleaming silver canisters back and forth as the smoke drifts all around them.

Photo series for Interview Magazine by Mert & Marcus.

With every passing moment, however, the image which grows strongest in my mind is that of a lush, rich, red-silk lined opium den in Imperial China. (Or Johnny Depp “chasing the dragon” in a London opium den in the film, “From Hell.”) Coromandel is one of the very few things I’ve smelled that strongly calls to mind YSL’s Opium, in its true, vintage, 1970s, un-reformulated parfum glory. That almost sexually decadent smokiness is redolent of dark rooms reeking of vice and sinuous bodies, their limbs twisted and contorted in the pursuit of their madness.

True, unvarnished, untainted Opium is my absolute favorite perfume in the world. (We shall not speak of the travesty that it is in its current incarnation. We cannot. It is simply too painful.) True Opium was an ode to licentious abandon and unbridled passion.

Photo series for Interview Magazine by Mert & Marcus.

It was pure, oozing sex, writhing under a full moon, baying in passion as your darkest side emerged and you lost all control. Opium captured my soul in the 1970s as a young child and it never let go. For true Opium, I would go to hell and back.

Coromandel is not Opium. It is too powdery, especially in its dry-down. It lacks Opium’s rawness, its power and its dark, unctuous slither. But it tries to be Opium’s soft, refined, sweet, baby sister in some ways. The incense and smoke that almost burns your nose is very evocative of Opium’s dark side. But it is incense and smoke wrapped up in powder, pearls, lace and cashmere, not in red-silk tuxedo held half-open and revealingly with one, long, taloned red-laquered finger nail.

No, that is not Coromandel. In its middle and final stages, Coromandel may be better suited to Tolstoy’s tragic heroine, Anna Karenina, in the novel by the same name. Try to imagine Kiera Knightley’s “Anna Karenina” in an old, dark Russian Orthodox Church and you may get closer to the image that Coromandel evokes when I wear it.

A few final things: this is not necessarily a perfume that only a woman can wear. I think its smokiness and incense-y character makes it very accessible to men, as do the “woody” notes that so many seem to smell so strongly (but not me). I have read some female commentators say that it’s actually “too masculine.” I find that simply baffling. This is a scent everyone can wear if they should so choose. In fact, one of my closest male friends is bewitched by it. He is a man who adores YSL’s controversial, roaring, polarising, definitely masculine M7, too, so it’s not as though he leans towards “feminine” scents. If you’re a man and you’re intrigued by Coromandel, I think you should give it a shot. Even if you’re someone who normally fears powdery or powdery vanilla scents, the degree of smokiness and spice may be enough to offset any “old lady” concerns that you might have.

If you simply can’t get passed the thought of powdered vanilla, then you may want to try Serge Lutens’ Borneo 1834, also created by Christopher Sheldrake. I’ve never tried it but, from reviews like the one I’ve linked to there, it seems that there are a number of similarities. Both share what appears to be Sheldrake’s signature: a bold, sweet, spicy oriental that almost seems like a gourmand perfume at times but which is built around a solid base of patchouli. Borneo, however, is said to have a greater darkness with more bitter dark chocolate (in lieu of the white cocoa) and much earthier, heavier patchouli. (By the way, there isn’t any chocolate actually in either perfume. They simply evoke the scent on occasion.) If Coromandel is not for you, then perhaps Borneo 1834 will be. I hope you will let me know what you think if you try either one.

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Details

Cost: $110 for a 2.5 oz bottle. It only comes in Eau de Toilette

Sillage: Strong for the first 3 hours, close to the skin after 4 hours. But, again, my body consumes perfume.

Longevity: 5-6 hours. On me. On others, it’s supposed to last a long, long time and the most out of all the six perfumes in the “Les Exclusifs” collection.

Review: Hermès Elixir de Merveilles Eau de Parfum

Posted on December 11, 2012 by Kafkaesque

Heaven! I rarely have that reaction to new, mainstream or non-vintage perfumes, but this one is sheer heaven. Imagine slipping into a warm pool of creamy custard. As you slide in, you’re surrounded by what is initially a sharp burst of super bright, crisp, fresh orange before — mere seconds later — it turns into the darkness of bitter Seville orange. As you lie there, enveloped as if in a cocoon, sinuous fingers of the darkest, most bitter earthy chocolate wrap themselves like tendrils around your leg. It’s like a fin above the water, while below a huge black shark lies in wait. Patiently. For about 5 minutes. That big monster black is actually a dark, resinous patchouli and balsam wood. It lies in wait, until it slowly rises to the surface. And BITES you! That, my friends, is Hermès Elixir de Merveilles.

The “Elixir” (as I shall it from now on) was created in 2006 by the legendary nose, Jean Claude Ellena, and comes in a lovely orange bottle splattered with gold at the top and leaning partially on its side, off-kilter. It is an Oriental Fougère, according to Fragrantica, which essentially means that it has oriental notes mixed with woody ones. The notes are: peru balsam, vanilla sugar, amber, sandalwood, tonka bean, patchouli, siam resin, caramel, oak, incense, orange peel and cedar.

The key notes that you need to really pay attention to at first are the Peru Balsam, the Siam Resin, and the Patchouli, though the cedar and oak become significant later. Now, from my reading of Fragantica’s explanation, peru balsam is a type of wood whose essence has a cinnamon and vanilla smell. At the same time, it has a green olive base which exudes an earthier, as well as bitter, aroma. Resin is slightly different. From general reading, it seems resin is the dark, oozing secretions from a tree that differs from “balsam” mainly in terms of its form and method of preparation. Siam Resin is a type of dark, balsam-ic secretion from a particular type of tree in Thailand, and is supposed to be more smoky and dark than other types of resins. The thing is, both share some great similarities. Peru Balsam and Siam Resin both smell like sweet vanilla but Peru Balsam has a cinnamon aspect too, along with that earthy, bitter edge. In contrast, Siam Resin — which used to be burned as incense — is more smoky and woody. In short, Cinnamon Vanilla with bitter green earth -vs- Sweet Vanilla with smoky, incense and wood.

The reason why I’m emphasizing this at the start is to allay and offset any fears about that orange custard that I mentioned earlier. Yes, the Elixir has been compared to an orange-caramel smoothie but that is really the most superficial possible interpretation possible. Because that orange-caramel smoothie is just the initial tip of a very dark, smoky iceberg.

But let’s start at the beginning. The first sprays of the Elixir creates the most crisp, bright smell of pure orange imaginable. That lasts mere seconds before the orange turns very dark and bitter. Have you had true British marmalade made from real Seville oranges? Those are the oranges I smell at play here. Maybe 30 seconds in, there is an immediate transformation from oranges (of any variety, crisp or bitter) to a suddenly warm…. ooze. I say “ooze” because I’m not quite sure how to describe the warm, seeping, almost thick (but soft) feeling of molting caramel that has suddenly appeared. There is a touch of cinnamon, too.

That seems to be the opening salvo of the Peru Balsam but it’s not jarring. In fact, the perfume has suddenly mellowed into a very complex “whole” with layers and range but, yet, still a “whole,” if that makes sense. It’s a full package where no-one thing perpetually dominates (except perhaps the bitter orange) and where you can smell numerous different notes all at the same time. And, yet, they blend together perfectly as one. Unctuous, creamy, rich and warm…. it’s like slipping into an enveloping custard bath.

At the same time, the Siam Resin is starting to make itself noticed. That custard bath has a vanilla element that is sweet, yes, but there is also smoke and incense. Smoky vanilla-orange with caramel and incense might lead you to say, “But…. that sounds so damn strange!” It also might lead you to think of food, especially when I mention one of the most obvious impressions from those opening notes: dark, black chocolate.

Yes, chocolate. My immediate first impression was Seville oranges coated in the richest but blackest, most bitter chocolate imaginable. And with a touch of salt on it too! (Do you see why I’m leading you into this very gently, Oh Reader who may hate food scents?)

Don’t worry, this is NOT a food perfume and most definitely not a dessert one. There are chocolate perfumes out there, but this is not one of them simply because of those notes which I said were so key earlier: the Resin, Patchouli, Oak and Cedar. In fact, there is absolutely NO chocolate in the Elixir! What you’re smelling is the Patchouli, a dark, bitter, dirty 70s-kind of patchouli in the best way possible. It’s not a modern patchouli because it has a bite to it. It has a definite kick, like that black shark lurking under the water.

The dirty, earthy patchouli gives this an edge, but it is really anchored in those underlying wood notes which bring an earthy, masculine, woody foundation to the whole perfume. Strong oak, aromatic cedar and the earthy, almost pine tree-like bitterness of the balsam tree make this a scent that is definitely not foody. Plus, it has that Hermès signature in its final stages that is dry. “Dry” in the sense that it’s not sweet, moist, crisp but… dry. It’s almost hard to explain. I’ve heard it time and time again about Hermès fragrances and, after having gone back to smell all mine (as well as my father’s colognes), I can definitely agree. But it’s a bit like Porn as defined by one of the Supreme Court Justices: you may not be able to explain what it is, but you know it when you see it.

The famous perfume reviewer, Luca Turin, supposedly called the Elixir “bon chic, bon genre” and said that its dry-down was “enchanting.” (See a comment from “Lisa.M.Kasper” on Fragrantica, here.) (I don’t have his book, so I’m taking her word for it.) She agrees with Turin, as do I. It absolutely is “bon chic, bon genre” which is a French phrase to describe someone in the “now,” who is chic, stylish and hip. And, yes, the dry-down absolutely is enchanting. It’s all majestic, big, dark bitter tree (almost like a pine tree at times), mixed with peppery incense, smoke, sweetness and spice and just a remaining hint of orange wrapped in dark chocolate. It’s so unusual that it’s just… baffling…. at times.

If Hermès’ 24 Faubourg was Princess Diana’s signature scent, then this belongs to someone else. I’m tempted to say Audrey Hepburn: sophisticated under a sweet, gamine appearance but not a child. Warm and sexy, but not overtly sexy like Brigitte Bardot. Casual in appearance (no Princess Diana tiaras and dresses here) but always stylish. And with a definitely aloof side under that initial impression of warm approachability.

The Elixir has been called “bi-polar” and I think that is a perfect description for it. It really is bi-polar. How else to explain these enormous extremes? It has also been called extremely masculine. To the point that there are a lot of complaints on Fragrantica, wishing they could like this scent but it’s so masculine. I don’t know when woody or spicy scents became masculine but I don’t consider this one. Nor, for that matter, do I consider it feminine. It is most definitely unisex, and the failure to label it as such is nothing more than a huge mistake in my opinion! I have to wonder if those who find it so masculine went into it expecting an orange dessert or a fruit cocktail scent. If so, then yes, by their standards, I suppose that green pine tree and cedar make it “masculine”. (If you could only hear my audible sniff at that.)

I should confess that I have a terrible weakness for almost all Hermès fragrances (mens, womens, dogs and horses…. no, I kid. Only the men’s and women’s fragrances), but not all Hermès scents make me whimper and moan as I sniff my arm. 24 Faubourg definitely does. And Parfum d’Hermès used to be one of my signature fragrances, though I have not smelled it as its re-named persona, Rouge d’Hermes. But I dislike Caleche from my childhood memories of it and most definitely have not liked most of the Merveilles flankers. The Merveilles line consists of Eau de Merveilles, the original one from 2004, then the Elixir in 2006, followed by Eau Claire and, recently, the very latest, Ambres de Merveilles.

There is a lot of talk about the Elixir versus the original Eau version. I’ve smelled the latter, but I wasn’t particularly impressed. It’s pleasant and nice, but it would hardly drive me to buy a whole bottle. I smelled the Elixir, and promptly went out and did just that. It has a WOW and a POW that, to me, the Eau version does not. The Eau is fresh, airy, clean and zesty. It’s subtle, less warm, and perhaps more demure. I haven’t tested out the Eau beyond some cursory sniffs and sprays, so I can’t speak as to its dry-down or process of development, but I hear that the Elixir and the Eau become very similar towards the end. And it is said that the Eau also has that typically dry Hermès signature at the end as well.

I don’t think the Elixir is for everyone. If your preference is for light, crisp scents, for florals, or for fresh, natural, understated and unobtrusive scents, then I think you will find the Elixir to be overwhelming and you should stay away. Those of you who fear fruity smells and how they may turn on you, I think you should give this a test run. Because it’s not a true fruit cocktail perfume by any means; that strong woody, resinous foundation forbids it! But for those of you who want to feel like Audrey Hepburn, in her capris and ballet flats with an Hermès scarf wrapped around her, as she quietly strolls through a bookstore in autumnal Paris where the orange leaves have fallen all around and where there is a brisk smell of smoky winter in the air… then this is your fragrance. Bon chic, bon genre indeed!

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Other Details:

— Longevity: ENORMOUS, even on me! I would say it lasts a good 8 hours on me. On someone else, probably 10-14 hrs.

— Sillage: Enormous at first but, on me, it becomes less noticeable about 3-4 hours in. On everyone else, I’d guess it would be pretty big.

— Cost: $108 for a 1.6 oz bottle of Eau de Parfum (it does not come in Eau de Toilette); $149 for a 3.3 oz. bottle

Modern Trends in Perfume: Part II – Sweat, Genitalia, Dirty Sex & Decay

Posted on December 7, 2012 by Kafkaesque

Earlier, in Part I, I covered the super-sweet and gourmand categories of perfumes that are currently popular on the market. Perhaps as a backlash to those scents, some designers have sought to go in a polar opposite direction. I’m not quite sure how to characterize the varying scents in this group or groups, so I’ll simply call them the Extreme Eccentrics.

The perfumes range from scents which seek to replicate post-coitus … er… muskiness, to armpit body odor to (allegedly) unwashed female genitalia or semen. Even decay and decomposition. No, I’m not joking. I understand everyone’s body chemistry differs, but not when a perfume is *intentionally* made to smell like that. I also understand the interest in the scent of sex and the impact of pheromones. But when a scent’s after-effects have been compared to “canned tuna and urine,” and when you specifically tell your perfumer/composer that you want the smell of female genitalia (washed or unwashed is unknown), then perhaps you’re taking your brand’s famous eccentricity to really extreme levels. Vivienne Westwood’s famous (infamous?) Boudoir is one of the perfumes in question here. According to some, she specifically wanted the perfume to have a note resembling that of a woman’s private parts. And, it seems the perfumer succeeded. In fact, a large number of people seem to adore the scent – though almost all its fans admit they wouldn’t dare wear it to work and that it needs to be (as the name suggests) restricted to the boudoir. A proper, in-depth description of Boudoir can be found here.

Alexander McQueen’s Kingdom (discontinued after his death) is slightly different. Like Boudoir, descriptions of the perfume seem to imply that it too falls under the “sweatiest of skanky, dirty sex” category. But there is another added element: body odor. Kingdom has cumin in it and cumin has a tendency, in strong doses, to smell like bad B.O. (Personally, I think cumin smells like revoltingly dirty socks combined with bad armpit sweat. No, I’m not a fan.)

Now, I haven’t smelled either of these two in person (Kingdom is not easy to find nowadays), but I’ve read plenty on both and find the whole concept behind them fascinating. Both scents come from designers known for being cutting-edge, unconventional, eccentric, and avant-garde. Both are clearly representative of their designer’s aesthetic and ethos. But they are also both perfect examples of the rebellion against the more mainstream modern scents with their predominantly sweet characteristics. They are also not alone. There are numerous perfumes and colognes out there that seek to emulate sex and post-sex muskiness in different degrees. It’s just that few have pushed it to the extremes of Boudoir and Kingdom.

Or have they? A 2008 article in the British paper, The Guardian, points out the intention of some perfumers, going all the way back to Jacques Guerlain in the early 20th century:

Jacques Guerlain – begetter of the scents Jicky, Shalimar and Mitsouko – observed that his perfumes should recall “the underside” of his mistress, while Tom Ford declared that he wanted his Black Orchid to smell “like a man’s crotch”. Such flights of fancy are known as “knicker scents” and conjure the vagina, semen, even the anus. […] Still more notoriously, Serge Lutens’ Ambre Sultan comprises a ripely resinous vegetal amber suggestive of female arousal.

Sperm-wise, we have Alan Cumming’s aptly named Cumming; Thierry Mugler’s Cologne with its carnal “S note”; and Sécrétions Magnifique by Etat Libre d’Orange, its packaging emblazoned with a spurting penis. The truly fixated should embrace Orgie, a graphic aroma created by Christoph Hornetz and Christophe Laudamiel as part of a 15-scent tribute to Süskind’s novel. An evocation of a copulating crowd, it positively spews semen. Those of a rear-ended persuasion, meanwhile, should consult Eau de Hermès, which revels in a certain sweat-spiced, masculine intimacy, while Roja Dove is proud that his “Roja Dove No 3” has a salty sensuality about its nether regions.

You might wonder how perfumers achieve such results. The Guardian article (linked to up above) explains:

Many of perfumery’s most venerable creations owe their sensuality to the use of animal ingredients with a certain “spray” element: civet, a faecal paste extracted from the anal glands of the civet cat; castoreum, a leathery emission from the genital scent sacs of the castor beaver; ambergris, a briny and vomitous by-product of the digestive system of sperm whales; and musk secreted from the sheath gland of the musk deer have all been popular perfume ingredients. Then things become still more complex: civet may be cut with hair or – brace yourself – infant excrement.

So, if you always wondered why that one perfume of yours smelled …. unpalatable…. to put it politely, baby poo and feline anal glands may be to blame. Or perhaps it’s something else, like the smell of rotting decay which the U.S. Department of Defense allegedly researched as a weapon of mass olfactory destruction. Okay, perhaps it didn’t go THAT far, but they certainly tried! It was part of another sub-set of scents in this Extreme Eccentrics group: perfumes that smelled of death and decomposition! From that same, incredibly fascinating article:

An American department of defence collaboration to devise non-toxic olfactory weaponry found the stench of decay to be more intolerable even than that of vomit or burned hair. A forerunner of such tactics, a putridly flatulent stink called Who Me?, was devised during the second world war to be used by the French Resistance (who else?) to humiliate fastidious Nazis. […] But the ultimate paean to decomposition is Laudamiel and Hornetz’s [2007 scent] Human Existence, a robustly repellent reek smacking of oral abscesses and vegetal decay. Apply to your wrist and you will desire only to hack it off.

Laudamiel was specifically influenced by Patrick Suskind’s fabulous, infamous, legendary and brilliant novel Perfume and its anti-hero, the scentless, Grenouille. It is a book I highly, HIGHLY recommend for all perfume addicts. Those who lack the time to read it may be interested to know that Grenouille’s ultimate and final perfume creation leads to an orgiastic explosion of excess and was made from the essence of 25 virgins. Laudamiel expressly sought to recreate the pivotal scenes from Perfume and the murderer’s scents, one by one, starting in 2000. (Without murdering anyone, I should hasten to add!!!) According to an informative N.Y. Times article on Laudamiel, he was assisted in his endeavour by a perfume scientist who “recruited two young female virgins and, with their parents’ permission, recorded their aroma using a polymer needle. Laudamiel found this scent on I.F.F.’s shelves, then added the scents Süskind describes as clinging to the virgin’s skin: apricot, nuts, sea breeze.” (See, “Smellbound.”) There has been no indication as to whether Laudamiel succeeded in his efforts to replicate Grenouille’s infamous and orgy-inducing fragrance….

Thankfully, most perfumers don’t go to such extremes. But niche perfume houses are increasingly pushing the envelope in order (in my opinion) to counter the avalanche of mass-market, generic Sugar Bomb and Gourmand perfumes on the market. There are no limits, no even the smell of human decay!

If all this has left you with the strong urge to take a shower or to cleanse yourself, then you’re in luck. Part III of this article will focus on the Clean/Fresh category of perfumes, along with the latest, popular trend of Aoud/Oud scents. I’ll add that link here when it is up. Stay tuned!